From Slaves to Sons

Slave, or son? That’s the choice sitting inside this passage. Galatians 4:4–7:

“But when the set time had fully come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to redeem those under the law, that we might receive adoption to sonship. Because you are his sons, God sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, the Spirit who calls out, ‘Abba, Father.’ So you are no longer a slave, but God’s child, and since you are his child, God has made you also an heir.”

That’s mind-blowing. I want to pick up three words from this passage. Redeemed, verse 5. Adopted, verse 5. Heirs, verse 7. Three words, and I want to take them one at a time this morning.

We Are Redeemed

From slaves to sons first means we are redeemed. God sent his Son, verse 5 tells us, to redeem those who were under the law. Before Christ’s coming — look back at verse 23 “we were held in custody under the law, locked up until the faith that was to come would be revealed.” The law was our guardian until Christ came, so that we might be justified by faith. Now that faith has come, we are no longer under a guardian. We are no longer slaves. We have been redeemed from being under the law.

David Guzik puts it well: “Because Jesus is God, he has the power and the resources to redeem us. Because Jesus is man, he has the right and the ability to redeem us.” He came to purchase us out of the slave market, verse 3, out of our bondage to sin and the elemental spiritual forces of the world. Bought back. That’s the whole transaction, right there.

One of my heroes is John Newton, the man who wrote what’s probably the most well-known hymn of all time, Amazing Grace. He knew how important it was to remember where he’d come from. He was an only child whose mother died when he was seven. He went to sea at eleven. Can you imagine that? As he grew up he became the captain of a slave ship, with an active hand in that horrendous, degrading, and inhumane trade. But on March 10, 1748, when he was twenty-three and his ship was in imminent danger off the coast of Newfoundland, he called out to God in desperation. He cried out for mercy, cried out for redemption — and he received it. He never forgot how amazing it was that God had received him, as evil, violent, and vulgar as he had been. To keep this fresh in his memory, he had a plaque fixed to the wall above the fireplace mantel in his office, bearing the words of Deuteronomy 15:15: “You shall remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the LORD your God redeemed you.”

Some of us forget what God has done in our lives and the grace he has shown us. If we keep fresh in our minds what we once were, and what we now are in Jesus Christ, we will do well. May familiarity not breed contempt – the work of Jesus on the cross, in my place and in yours, is so spectacular.

The word tetelestai, “it is finished”, is what Jesus declared on the cross: naked in front of people, broken, dying, apparently completely alone. That word is multi-layered. It meant, first, sentence served. In the first century it was common practice to nail a prisoner’s charge sheet to his cell door, listing his offences and the penalty imposed. Once the sentence had been served, the charge sheet was removed and stamped: tetelestai – sentence served. He could never again be charged or held to account for those crimes, because the sentence had been dealt with once and for all. That echoes Colossians 2:13–14, where Paul writes that we were dead in our sins, and God made us alive with Christ, forgiving all our sins and cancelling the charge of our legal indebtedness, nailing it to the cross. Sentence served.

Second, it meant victory gained. Tetelestai was also used of successful military campaigns. When a commander returned from war, he would parade the spoils and the conquered prisoners through the streets of Rome and declare tetelestai – mission accomplished.

Third, it meant fully paid. According to Vocabulary of the Greek New Testament, the word was used on receipts: once a bill had been paid, it was stamped tetelestai – fully paid. When Jesus died on the cross, his shed blood was the payment for our sins. Paul reminds us of that truth in 1 Corinthians 6:20: “You were bought at a price. Therefore honour God with your body.”

That’s the redemption piece. From slaves to sons means we are redeemed – bought back. The sentence has been served, the victory accomplished, the debt fully paid.

We Are Adopted

Second, from slaves to sons means we are adopted – verse 4. “When the set time had fully come”, that phrase comes twice, God, in his timing, sent his Son, born of a woman (not born of a man, an allusion to the virgin birth), born under the law. He was sent to redeem those under the law, our first point, that we might receive, secondly, adoption to sonship, verse 6: “Because you are his sons, God sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, the Spirit who calls out, ‘Abba, Father.’”

Back in verse 26: “In Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith, for all of you who were baptised into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.” That’s a striking expression — clothed yourselves with Christ.

I have a cousin in New Zealand who has 3,000 sheep. Some farmers there have 30,000. I asked Siri this morning, driving up, how many people live in New Zealand, 5.4 million. And how many sheep, currently around 30 million, down from a peak of 75 million. That’s roughly six sheep per person. Sheep are their main trade, the way coffee is for Burundi. New Zealand lamb and tourism go together, the way our coffee does for a Burundi.

Here’s where the picture goes. With 30,000 sheep, at lambing season you might have a hundred ewes giving birth on the same day, and sometimes, as with any species, it goes wrong. One ewe gives birth to a stillborn lamb. Nearby, another ewe dies in childbirth, leaving a healthy lamb with no mother. This isn’t emotional for the farmer, it’s an economic decision, he’s lost two units of production and he doesn’t want to lose four. The ewe who lost her lamb will, left alone, die of a broken heart. And the lamb without a mother to suckle will die too.

You’d think you could simply give the orphaned lamb to the grieving ewe. But she sniffs it and knows: that’s not mine. So instead, the farmer takes the skin of the stillborn lamb, peels it off, and clothes the orphaned lamb in it – washed in the blood of that lamb. Now the mother comes, sniffs it, and recognises her own blood, her own progeny. She accepts it as hers.

That’s a powerful picture. If you’re not in Christ, let me put it this way for myself: before I gave my life to Jesus, God came to me and, in a sense, sniffed me. And I stank of sin – he could not accept me as his own. (Not my finest smell, but there it is.) If you want to try the self-help method, Jesus said in Matthew 5:48, “Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” I’ve been failing at that one for forty years and counting. But we know that all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and the wages of sin is death – but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus. We cannot save ourselves.

But the adoption piece is this: God comes to us clothed in Christ, washed from head to toe, and he says, “You smell wonderful. You are my son.” He loves us, adopts us, takes us as his own, and delights in us. Some of you may not have fully understood that transaction — it’s a bit like grace itself: being rescued, cleaned, and made new. That’s what this verse is describing.

I’ve worked with many orphans, we have two orphanages under our broader ministry, and an orphan is deeply insecure, with no one who ultimately looks out for them. But adoption is a legal change; they belong. Some of us here this morning are still living with an orphan spirit. I’d love it if today were the day we addressed that, recognising that we are adopted, loved, under a legal covenant, fully paid, mission accomplished, sentence served. It’s ours. It’s our right in Christ.

Verse 6 is strikingly Trinitarian: “Because you are his sons, God”, the Father, “sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, the Spirit who calls out, ‘Abba,’ Daddy, Papa, Father.” John Stott wrote something insightful here: “God’s purpose was not only to secure our sonship by his Son, but to assure us of it by his Spirit. He sent his Son that we might have the status of sonship, and he sent his Spirit that we might have the experience of it.”

During the American Civil War, following a family tragedy, a soldier was given special permission to travel to Washington and appeal for release from the army, because his family needed him. He went to the White House, but as an insignificant foot soldier he was turned away – discouraging. He sat down a few hundred yards from the White House, despondent. A little boy came up and asked what was wrong, and for some reason the young soldier poured out his story. The boy listened, then said, “Come with me.” He led the soldier through a back entrance, past guards in full regalia, past generals, and eventually right into the Oval Office – where Abraham Lincoln was talking with his Secretary of State. Lincoln looked up and said, “Tad, is there anything I can do for you?” And Tad said, “Dad, this soldier needs to talk to you.”

That soldier gained access to the president through the president’s son. We gain access to God through the Son, Jesus, into his very presence. It’s mind-blowing that these verses say we become sons and daughters.

Hebrews 10:19 puts it this way: “Since we have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way opened for us through the curtain”, tetelestai, that is his body, “and since we have a great high priest over the house of God, let us draw near to God with a sincere heart, in full assurance of faith.” Some of us need a fresh realisation this morning of the Father-heart of God, the goodness of God – that our heavenly Father is for us, cheering us on, wanting what’s best for us.

I was talking with someone earlier about the sucker punches we take in life, and how hard it can be to stay in the fight. It’s easy to lose sight of the goal. As I was preparing this, my wife reminded me of the poem “The Race,” by D. H. Groberg. Picture the scene as I tell it.

It was a children’s race – young boys lined up, full of hope, each hoping to win, or at least place, with fathers watching and cheering from the side. The whistle blew, and one boy in particular, whose father was in the crowd, was running near the lead, thinking how proud his dad would be – when he lost his footing and fell flat on his face, mid the laughter of the crowd. Embarrassed, he wished he could disappear. But in the crowd, his father stood, and his face said clearly: get up and win the race.

The boy rose and ran hard to make up the fall – but so anxious to catch up that he slipped and fell again. Now he thought, “I’m hopeless as a runner. I shouldn’t even try.” But again he searched the crowd and found his father’s face, with that same steady look: get up and win the race. He rose again, ten yards behind the last runner, and pushed himself to close the gap, only to fall a third time. This time he lay there, a tear in his eye. “Three strikes, I’m out. Why try? I’ve lost. I’ll just live with the disgrace.” But he thought of his father, whom he’d soon have to face, and heard, low: get up and take your place. You were not made for failure here. Get up and run your race.

With borrowed will, he resolved that win or lose, he wouldn’t quit. Far behind the others, the furthest back he’d ever been, he ran as though to win, though he’d fallen three times. He gave it everything until the end. The winning runner crossed the line first, head high, no falling, no disgrace, and the crowd cheered. But when the boy who’d fallen three times crossed the line last, you’d have thought he’d won the race to hear the crowd. To his father he said, sadly, “I didn’t do so well.” His father answered, “To me, you won. You rose each time you fell.”

All of life is like that race, with its ups and downs. All you have to do to win is rise each time you fall. Voices will still shout, “Quit! You’re beaten.” But another voice says: get up and win the race!

Some of our lives have gone way off script. But picture that father, cheering you on through the sucker punches, the doubts, a child or grandchild making bad choices, the insecurity of losing a job, the difficulties of marriage where you’re just hanging on to your vows, the weight of caring for an elderly parent, whatever it is. He is saying: get back up, keep going, you will get there. I have adopted you. I love you. You are mine. Live for me. You have moved from slave to son, from slave to daughter. I have redeemed you. I have adopted you.

We Are Heirs

Lastly, this means we are made heirs. Verse 29: “If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.” Verse 7: “So you are no longer a slave to fear, you are a child of God… you are no longer a slave, but God’s child, and since you are his child, God has made you an heir.”

I love the story of Watchman Nee, the Chinese believer, and a new convert who was struggling with Galatians 3 and 4, that wrestling between law and grace. He hadn’t yet found the freedom of Galatians 5:1: “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free; stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.” Naturally, we’re all default legalists, we want to do good things and have them tally up, but that’s not how grace works. This new convert came to Watchman Nee in deep distress and said, “No matter how much I pray, no matter how much I try, I simply cannot seem to be faithful to my Lord. I think I’m losing my salvation.” Nee said, “Do you see this dog here? He’s my dog. He’s house-trained, obedient, never makes a mess, a pure delight to me. Out in the kitchen I also have a baby son. He soils himself, makes a mess, throws his food around, a total mess. But who is going to inherit my kingdom? Not my dog. My son is my heir. And you are Jesus Christ’s heir, because it is for you that he died.” Try explaining that one to the dog.

You are his heir because of what he did. I think many of us struggle to grasp grace. Someone once explained it this way: suppose a man broke into your home and killed your child. If you hunted him down and killed him, that would be vengeance. If you let the judicial process take its course and he was sentenced, that would be justice. But if you took that man into your home afterward and adopted him as your own son – that would be grace. It’s a radical picture, but isn’t it similar to what God did? We, the human race, killed his Son, and instead of punishing us, God in his mercy still went ahead with his plan, reconnecting us to himself through Jesus.

Romans 8:14–16: “Those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God. The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, ‘Abba, Father.’ The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children.” And verse 17: “Now if we are children, then we are heirs, heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ”, though this isn’t a soft deal, the verse continues, “if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory.”

As we come to this now, God is calling you, I want you, he says. You cannot earn it; just receive it. John Newton, remembering that he was a slave, set free, and redeemed through Christ, put it this way: “I am not what I ought to be. I am not what I’d like to be. I’m not even what I hope to be. But I am not what I once was. And by the grace of God, I am what I am.” That’s grace. That’s amazing grace.

In Luke 15, the father of the prodigal son is looking out for his return. Some of us are still living under shame, still living under guilt, still carrying an orphan spirit. God wants you to fully understand this morning: you have gone from slave to son, from slave to daughter. I have redeemed you. I have adopted you. And you are an heir.

Verse 28 “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, neither male nor female,” and I’d add, neither Hutu nor Tutsi, “we are all one in Christ.” It’s a stunning, lovely progression: first we are set free from slavery, we’re redeemed. Then we’re declared sons and daughters through adoption. And then, as sons and daughters, we are made heirs.

Closing

I want to close with a story from across Lake Tanganyika, in the Congo, my view each day, a country eighty-two times the size of Burundi, most of it jungle. In the 1930s, a British missionary doctor named Alex Clark was out hunting on his day off when he heard urgent screams. He found a man being mauled by a lion, managed to shoot the lion without hitting the man, and carried him back to the mission hospital, where he began nursing him back to health.

A few months later, on a quiet Sunday afternoon, Dr. Clark was sitting on his veranda when he heard a commotion of animal noises below. He looked down to see a procession coming up the hill: chickens, sheep, goats, several children, a woman, and a man he recognised, the man he’d saved. That man knelt before Dr. Clark and said, “Doctor, according to the law of my tribe, the one who has been saved from the jaws of a lion owes everything he has to his saviour. So here I am, with my wife, my children, and all my animals. We are at your service.”

We haven’t been saved from the jaws of a lion, we’ve been saved for far more than that. And the law of that tribe still applies: whoever has been saved, everything he has belongs to his saviour. That’s the invitation today. You have been redeemed – may that hit you afresh. You have been adopted – you’re not an orphan, you’re a son, a daughter. And that makes you an heir, with a living inheritance, as 1 Peter 1:3 says, through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.

Once that lands, you’ll want to splash it around liberally, sharing this message far and wide, in Worcester and the surrounding villages, to the nation, and to the nations.

I’ll do it in Burundi. You do it wherever he’s called you. But let’s do it. Amen.